A Midnight Dance (36 page)

His strong hands gripped her bottom. She wiggled, realizing her intimate flesh was open and inches from his mouth.

“Don’t move.” He tightened his hold. His warm breath against her moistened folds was delicious torment.

She dug her heels into his back, bracing herself for the sensual siege. He stroked his tongue along her feminine folds. She lurched and whimpered.

“You like that, don’t you, Sabine?”

She was breathing so hard, she felt light-headed.
“Yes . . .”

“You want more?”

“Yes!”

His tongue grazed over her private flesh. She tossed her head back and arched to him, straining against the bindings on her wrists.

“Your responses are as delicious as you are.” His voice was low and so seductive. “Cry out for me again.” He gave her another luscious stroke of his tongue and she involuntarily complied.

He licked and sucked her juices, stopping every once in a while to torment her swollen clit. To drive her mad. Keeping her in sensuous agony, skillfully holding her on the edge of orgasm.

And wavering to and fro.

Just when she couldn’t bear any more, his mouth swooped in on her clit and he gently bit down. She screamed, vaulting into ecstasy, euphoria flooding through her veins. Her body shuddered and convulsed. Gripped by powerful spasms, her feminine walls wildly clenched and released.

Jésus-Christ.
Jules hadn’t had this fiery woman in weeks. But it was worth enduring every agonizing moment that led to this. He had to fuck her. Feel her silky cunt gloved around his cock again. Or lose his mind.

Gently, he lifted her legs off his shoulders and set them back down on the ground. He was on his feet in an instant and caught her around the waist as her knees buckled. Holding her up, he moved around her and pulled her back against his front.

Standing on a slight incline, their bodies were perfectly aligned, his prick nestling along the seam of her luscious derrière.

He brushed her hair back to reveal her graceful neck. “I’m not done with you yet.” He kissed the nape of her neck, drawing her soft skin between his lips.

And drove his cock into her quivering core.

Her sultry sound eclipsed his groan. Her sheath throbbed, drawing on his motionless shaft.

Clenching his teeth, he closed his eyes. She was so slick, so hot, so tight after her orgasm it was mind-numbing. “You have a cunt to die for.”

He withdrew and slid back in with the most decadent glide. She moaned and squeezed around him. Any vague thoughts of moderation vanished. Tightening his hold on her hips, he began to thrust, hard, fast, pulling her to him each time he drove forward. Her legs grew steadier.

“Don’t stop.” He heard her soft tortured plea. There was no way he could. This was perfect passion. He’d found perfect bliss. She pressed hard against him, and arched her back. His cock wedged deeper. Guttural groans escaped him. He was hammering at her womb. He couldn’t stop. She had him on fire. She gasped with each solid thrust, pushing back, meeting every one, matching his wild tempo.

“Jules, I’m going to . . . I’m . . . Oh!”

“Come,” he growled. “
Dieu
, do it.”

Rapture erupted from her throat. Her delicate muscles contracting around him, milking his thrusting cock, sent him over the edge.

He reared, tossed his head back, a long throaty groan roaring up his throat as come shot out of him with stunning force. Hot spurts of semen spewing to the ground until he’d purged his prick. The last dollop dragging a final feral sound up his throat.

Sabine’s knees finally gave out. His arms were about her instantly. His strong arm around her waist to hold her up, he untied her wrists.

With infinite care he placed her down on the blankets and removed her blindfold. His handsome face was the first thing she saw. A slight smile graced his lips.

He massaged her wrists, her arms. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, her body still trembling in the aftermath.

His smile grew slightly. He stretched out on top of her and smoothed a lock of her hair off her cheek. “It was intense. And perfect.” So was he. Softly, he kissed her. A knot formed in her throat. She slipped her arms around his neck, needing to hold him, to be held by him. Soft emotions she couldn’t quell surged from her heart.

As she let his unhurried kisses soothe her, calm her, she made a startling discovery. “You’re still . . .”

“Hard?”
he supplied. Shifting his hips, he slid his shaft into her. She gasped, her sheath ultrasensitive from her recent releases. “I’ve waited a long time to have you again. One orgasm isn’t going to be enough.” His smile grew to a heart-fluttering grin.

Buried deep inside her, he remained still while he plied her with more gentle, stirring kisses.

“You are so very beautiful. And so desirable,” he said in the softest voice. “I’m going to have you all night long. You’re going to take my cock again and again. Get used to it, my beautiful forest fairy.”

His words elated and scared her. What if she did get used to it? To him? What then?

Agnes snickered. With a stern look, Sabine lightly elbowed her in the ribs, but it didn’t silence Agnes. As the older woman glanced at Jules, a louder giggle bubbled out of her. She’d been like this since they’d stopped just outside Paris not more than an hour ago to don their disguises.

Keenly aware of Jules’s presence beside her, Sabine turned to Louise and Vincent—who sat across from her in the moving cart—looking to them for help. Sabine instantly saw she’d get none there. Vincent was doing a poor job at hiding his mirth behind his hand, and Louise, though biting her lip, was
blatantly
tittering.

And they called themselves actors.

Sabine glanced at Jules, dressed in his peasant garb, hoping somehow his and Luc’s conversation about the Marquis d’Argon had been enough of a distraction, making them unaware of her family’s amusement at their expense.

Jules’s frown instantly told her not only that was he aware, but that he knew the cause of their hilarity.

“Don’t be angry with them,” Luc said, sitting across from Jules. “You do look ridiculous. And dirty.”

Jules looked away, ignoring Luc’s ribbing.

“You both look like peasants, which is how you want to look if you are to move about Paris without your peers recognizing you,” Sabine reasoned. Their hair covered with powder and ash, their faces altered by makeup and smudged with dirt for good measure, they’d been made to appear older than their years and every bit the “dirty peasant” no Aristo would glance at.

If only she could do something about their physiques and comportment. Both screamed,
Nobility
.

Though Agnes had altered the commoners’ clothing they wore to fit loose on purpose, their powerful bodies were still evident. Moreover, the Moutier men carried themselves with an inherent sense of authority that was difficult to hide.

Their peasant disguises, their cart, and the nag they’d obtained from a peasant en route, for Jules’s carts and horses were too fine, all lent credence to the ruse. Everything that could be done had been done to make them unrecognizable to anyone acquainted with them in the grand city.

The clatter of hooves over cobblestone snatched Sabine from her thoughts.

Paris
. She tensed.

Their cart moved into the chaos and confusion. The city streets were congested with Aristos and commoners, a clash of brilliant colors and the drab. Of luxurious carriages and humble carts. Of palaces known as
hôtels
for its exalted citizens, and barren alleys for its beggar-born.

Twisting and turning, she realized she was scouring the midafternoon crowds as if she’d spot Isabelle walking along the narrow store-lined streets, if she looked hard enough.

Warm fingers closed over her cold hand.

Jules brought her palm to his lips and kissed it. “If she’s alive, we will find her.”

“She’s alive.” Strangely, she felt it even stronger now that she was in Paris.

He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. Sabine rested her head on his shoulder and for a moment closed her eyes, savoring his warmth and strength. She floated through the noise of the city. Floated between worries and wonderment.

All those years ago, she’d vowed to return to Paris and win over her Dark Prince. And here she was, reentering the city with Jules de Moutier. Her most ardent, glorious lover.

Unlike before, she no longer dwelled on dreams, or the future. She was living in the moment, seizing fistfuls of bliss while she could.

The sounds of horses’ hooves, several of them, a fast approach, grabbed her attention. A four-horse carriage thundered by.

“Raymond, turn the cart around and follow that carriage!” Jules ordered.

“Why? Who is it?” Luc asked, craning his neck.

Jules smiled. “It looks as though good fortune is with us today,” he said as Raymond turned the cart, already in pursuit. “If that sorry excuse of a horse can keep up, we’ll speak to Valentin shortly, for
that
, Luc, was his carriage. And I just spotted him in it. Alone.”

Raymond drew the cart to a halt a discreet distance from where Valentin’s carriage was parked.

“We’ll walk from here,” Jules said as he jumped down and quickly aided the women off. The thought of a meeting with the Marquis sooner rather than later made his heart race. “We must get into the Marquis’ carriage. We need to distract the driver.”

“We’ll take care of the distraction.” Louise smiled and glanced at Vincent.

“My ankle!
O-O-O-O-H-H-H
. . .” Vincent’s cries and moans as he lay on the road in front of the Marquis’ horse drifted to the back of the carriage where Jules and Luc hid. Waiting.

Vincent’s feigned fall had been highly convincing. Louise, Sabine, and even Agnes supported the theatrics as they carried on distressed and distraught.

“Move him this instant,” the driver demanded. “He is blocking the way. This carriage belongs to the Marquis d’Argon.” With Vincent on the ground in front and another carriage parked in back, the driver knew he was stuck.

“I don’t care if it belongs to the King himself,” Sabine shot back. “We cannot lift him! If you want him moved, then get down and help us.”

A smile pulled at the corners of Jules’s mouth. That was his feisty forest fairy. He’d reward her heroics later—in all her favorite amorous ways.

Spotting Raymond parked down the street, Jules gave him a nod. Without further ado, Raymond knew exactly what Jules required of him and rolled up alongside the Marquis’ carriage.

“My dear husband . . . My poor, poor husband,” Louise wailed.

“My friend, you’d better move that man,” Raymond said to the driver. “It looks as though your master approaches.” He indicated the Marquis with a jerk of his chin.

The moment the driver saw his employer descending the stairs, he jumped down with a curse to help move Vincent.